Rogue
by smilee.shortee
Summary: So began their unlikely story, but their end has yet to come.
1. Nothing Good About Goodbye

**Disclaimer: **These incredible characters belong to Jo Rowling - I only wish to borrow them for a quick adventure or two.

**Warning**: Explicit language and mature content.

This story takes place during the 7th book of Harry Potter - please, if I get any information wrong, just drop me a note and let me know.

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><p><strong>Chapter One: Nothing Good About Goodbye<strong>

"The trip to the Ministry was a complete flop, Hermione -"

She shook her head violently, bushy hair defying Newton's law of universal gravity as it flung about in the air.

Hermione sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair, bum aching, in the magically enhanced tent. She had crossed her arms so tightly she was beginning to loose feeling in her fingers. Hermione's face was set in what she hoped was a stony expression, but with the face she's got, she never really knows until she's taken a nice long look in the mirror and rearranged her features to the desired expression.

Harry stood in front of her, green eyes pleading, glancing every now and then towards Ron for moral support.

"It was _not_ a complete flop!" Even to her, Hermione's voice seemed unnaturally shrill and petulant: she felt the intense need to cringe at the high-pitched sound. _Did something just die in your larynx?_ She cleared her throat and tried again. "It wasn't a complete flop, Harry. We took the locket from Umbridge, we saved a group of half-bloods, we got out _alive_-"

Harry snorted and gestured stiffly towards Ron, who was barley awake and was struggling to stay conscious. Her heart did a guilty flip, but she wouldn't, no, she _couldn't_, let that stop her from trying to persuade Harry to let her stay.

"He's alive," Hermione said shortly, ignoring how stupidly shallow that sounded. "He'd be having a much harder time if I _weren't_ here-"

"Hermione, listen." Ron's voice was weak and slightly slurred. Both she and Harry snapped their heads to stare at him - it was the first time he had spoken above a whisper in the past few hours. Granted, he sounded like he'd just woken from the dead, but at least he was talking. He looked pointedly at her.

His face was pale and if Hermione were any closer she could probably count each freckle that sprinkled across his nose. The dullness of his eyes scared her but the look on his face frightened her even more. He wore the same expression Harry did; a grim determined look she hadn't seen on his face since their first year, when he had clambered onto the back of that chess piece.

She couldn't bare to see that unyielding look on his face; instead she glared down at the canvas ground, cursing the tears that swelled behind her narrowed eyes.

"What happened to me was an accident. But accidents happen _all_ the time, Hermione. _Especially _to us. And, _oh Merlin_, if anything ever happened to you and Harry and I were unable to fix you-" His throat seemed to close on him and he fell silent.

Hermione could feel their eyes on her as the first frustrated tear slid from her cheek to her chin to the ground and buried itself in the tan material. The track it left on her face felt cold and stiff and yet she couldn't manage to loosen her arms from their tight position to wipe it away.

"I'm not leaving." Her voice broke on its own accord.

When Harry turned away from her, everything seemed to fall apart.

She began to cry in earnest - she couldn't help it, the watergates had opened and there was no way of closing them now. She stupidly clawed at my sides, trying to push away the sorrow that was spreading within her stomach, as if the pain she was inflicting with her fingers would do the job.

"I'm- I'm not lea-leaving. You can't ma-make me!" She looked up at Ron. He met her eyes briefly before casting his away.

Hermione hated him for it.

Harry's back was rigid and his head hung low, so low she could barely see it. He looked as if he were one of the ghosts at Hogwarts, beheaded three quarters of the way, forced to push his head back into place every now and then when a cocky third year would make some jibe about it. The thought was almost funny to her, in her delirious, sniveling state - hell, it was funny, who was she kidding? - but the idea of being back at Hogwarts made her insides knot with longing.

How _easy_ it would be just to be another student at Hogwarts, how _simple_ life could be under the rule of adults.

_How _quickly_ I would be kicked out, captured, sent to Azkaban, tortured, maybe even killed_, she reminded herself bitterly. _Best friend of Undesirable Number One. One-third of the most wanted trio in Britain. _

There was no going back for her. There was no going back for any of them. Their fates were sealed long ago, the day those two boys, _her_ boys saved her from that troll.

So why did they think they could just send me away?

"What would I do?" She asked, pulling herself together piece by piece. "Tell me, Harry-" because it was obvious this was Harry's idea; Harry Potter, The Boy Who Didn't Need Anyone. _No_, she corrected herself, staring at his still form through weary eyes. _Harry Potter, The Boy Who Never Asked For Any Help_._ Harry Potter, The Boy Who Needed It The Most_.

Harry Potter, who just shook his head.

Her best friends were pushing her away, leaving her behind when they needed her the most. Hermione could feel the blood rushing to her head, pounding in her ears. How could they be so incredibly _dense_ not to know that?

"You two are bloody _gits_, you know that?" Oh, she was angry. Beyond cross. She leaped from the chair and pulled from her sleeve her wand, sparks flying from it's tips. "_Complete _arses. Barmy prats-" She wracked her brain for much more vulgar insults but she was embarrassingly low on vocabulary. As far as obscenities were concerned, Hermione knew hardly any. Her parents would leap across tables to cover her ears if ever a profanity came along - and that's no exaggeration.

The thought of her parents made the walls of the tent quiver and she had to take a few calming breaths.

Harry had turned around to stare at her, ignoring her wand which seemed to have taken a life of it's own, sparks of dark colors leaping from the tip, drizzling to the ground. He shook his head at her, afflicted eyes filled with remorse.

Suddenly, the wand in my shaking hand disgusted her.

She dropped it like it had caught fire and Hermione squinted at her hand, halfheartedly inspecting for burns. Her head buzzed and swirled while Harry's white face blurred in and out of her vision. She could feel her shoulders slumping, pulling her towards the ground and she let herself drop to her tired knees.

She gazed at her hands, mesmerized by the drops of water that seemed to be falling from her face to her knuckles, confused as to why everything was so bloody _blurry_ and why each time she took a shuddering breath her chest was pierced with the sharp pain of - of what?

Of defeat.

Because even then she knew this was one battle she could not win. Harry would make sure that she would not come with them even if it tore that great big conscience of his to bits. Because it was _safer_ that way. Safer for her.

Because Harry Potter never puts his friends in danger.

Intentionally.

"Why does Ron get to stay?" She asked as she rocked back to sit on her bum and clumsily wiped at her face with the palms of her hands. It was a silly question to which Hermione already knew the answer to. Because she's too _important_ to them, because she's a _girl_, because it's too _dangerous_, because, because, _because_.

But she needed to hear him say it. She needed to hear him say it because it would make it much easier to hate him after they casted her out, after they sent her away.

Harry bent and took Hermione's arm. He hauled her up and walked her over to her bunk, sitting her down gently before pulling out his wand and flicking it this way and that, gathering her things and sending them zooming into her enchanted bag.

"Harry," She moaned. She shook her head and once again her hair defied gravity with the fervent movement. "Harry, Harry don't. Please! Ron, Ronald Weasley, you can't let him do this to me! _You _can't do this to me!" He bowed his head and she noticed how shaggy his hair had grown. He'd be needing a haircut soon. Who would cut his hair for him if she weren't around? Harry couldn't be trusted with scissors, and knowing them, they'd probably try to hex it off.

"You're my best friends," Hermione whimpered, staring at the disheveled back of Harry's head. He'd be needing a haircut as well. "You can't just put me out. Not now. You _know_ you need me, Dumbledore left me that book for a reason, if only I could figure out why-"

"You can figure it out in safety. At the Burrow, or in Australia with your parents-"

Something in her snapped.

"_My parents don't remember_ _who I am, you twat!_" She screeched, taking a pillow from the bunk and hurling it at his stupid face. "I sent them away, I made them forget the biggest part of the last seventeen years of their lives so that I could come with you and hunt Horcruxes and now you're asking me to go back to them? They'll be in even more danger if I'm with them!"

"And you'll be in even more danger if you're with _me_!" Harry yelled back. She felt a grim satisfaction. She wanted him to be angry. Hermione wanted him to _hurt_.

Merlin, what a selfish bitch she was.

"Don't you get it, Hermione? _I'm Undesirable Number fucking One_. Every witch and wizard and bloody creature in the country, shit, in _Europe_ is either out to get me or refuses to acknowledge me because they're so fucking afraid-" He cut himself off with an angry grunt. Harry stood in the middle of the tent, breathing deep as his shoulders violently rose and fell.

Hermione rose to her feet, slightly shaking, and reached her hand out to him, her anger dissipated. "I get it, Harry." Her voice was gentle and had a cooing quality to it that she never realized she could produce. "I get it, more than you probably know. Harry, it's okay to be afraid. It's okay to ask for _help_-"

"Not from you," he said savagely. Hermione flinched violently away and Ron sucked in a startled breath from where he had been silently propped up.

"Now, Harry, mate-" Ron began.

"No." Harry flicked his wrist and now her belongings were flying around, bumping into the canvas walls and banging into her bag. "Just shut up, Ron. Both of you. _Shut_. _Up_."

He turned to Hermione, meeting her eye at last, and the look on his face made her heart drop.

His features were screwed up in a mix anger and frustration and maybe even a hint hatred - though not at her, she knew him well enough to know that. His eyes, though, were haunting. They were green and dull and so, _so _sad.

"You're leaving, Hermione," he told her through clenched teeth. "We're not going to lose you to this damn war, we're not going to lose you to fucking _Voldemort_-"

"_HARRY, NO!_"

Ron had shot up from the bunk he was confined to and stared at Harry in horror.

Then there was a chorus of snaps from outside and the three of them drew their wands, pointing them at the slightly swaying flap of the entrance. They could hear voices outside, yelling at them.

"Come out of the tent, you fuckers," ordered one of the voices.

"Drop your wands and walk out with your hands above your head-"

"Don't even think of Disapperating. We've set charms against it - there's no way you're getting out."

Hermione felt unnaturally calm; she watched with a detached interest as Harry shoved his hand into the pouch around his neck and pulled out his invisibility cloak. The familiar cloth called to her and she yearned to duck beneath it and run her fingers across its patterned fabric.

"Hermione," he said, turning to her hastily. "Hermione, put this on." He forced her little bag into her hand.

"I can't let you-"

"_COME OUT NOW, OR WE'LL COME IN_."

Harry grabbed Hermione's head and pressed a kiss onto her forehead before thrusting the invisibility cloak into her arms. She held it in wonder as Ron lurched from the bed and took a few unsteady steps towards her to gather her in his arms and kiss her fiercely on the lips. She nearly dropped the cloak in her arms with surprise but he took it from her, and with one last look from both he and Harry, threw it over her head.

"Take our wands and place them next to the first tree you see when you exit the tent. Hide them beneath some leaves, then _run_." Harry and Ron held out their wands for Hermione to take with shaking fingers.

"We'll distract them - you get away from here, as far away as you can. When this is all over, we'll find you, we'll be together again, all of us, I promise-" Ron spoke to the empty air in front of him that was Hermione.

She watched in dawning horror as they turned from her and put their arms high in the air and made for the tent entrance. She couldn't let them go, she had to do something-

She hurried behind them and separated her wands from theirs before raising it and sending a hex - right at the side of Harry's face. He fell back and cried out as his face bubbled and blistered. Ron held him up, sagging with both his wound and Harry's weight.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to them. "They won't recognize you now-"

"_Go_," hissed Ron. He hauled Harry out of the tent.

Hermione took a shuddering breath and followed them out.

The tent stood surrounded by four cloaked men, poised stiffly with their wands drawn. They seemed to relax when Ron came out practically carrying the disfigured boy that was Harry and they lowered their wands to smirk at each other.

"What's this?" One asked, stepping forward to inspect Harry. "Beat him up, did you, ginger?"

Ron nodded his head - Hermione could see the sweat on his brow, strands of his hair stuck on his face. He was quivering with strain.

Hermione slipped past the man and, with a quiet spell, muffled the sound of her footsteps. She couldn't believe they had gotten past her wards. How had they know where they were?

She reached the first tree and crouched to hide the boy's wands, looking up constantly to assess the group of men. She had to do something. She had to - to what?

She raised her wand and crept up behind the group.

"_Protego_," she whispered, and a gleam of light emitted from her wand before throwing itself in front of Harry and Ron.

The men shouted in surprise and turned around, searching for the caster-

"_Stupefy!_" she cried, pointing at the man closest to her.

He fell to the ground and she jumped back as a curse was aimed in her general direction.

"_Confundus!_" The man closest to the boys dropped his wand and looked around dazedly. The man next to him pointed at Hermione and screamed "_Avada Kedarva!_" and she heard Ron's cry but she dropped to the ground and rolled away, the cloak falling off her shoulders and snatching on the ground as she thrust her wand at the man and attempted to stun him -

She rolled right into the legs of the last man and it knocked the air from her lungs and before she could point her wand at him he had grabbed her by the neck and hoisted her off the ground and into the air so that she was barely able to stand on her toes. His cloak had fallen back and in the moonlight his silvery hair gleamed and his face was a washed out sneer and their eyes locked and she felt her blood run cold -

"Malfoy," Hermione choked out, fingers digging into his arms, struggling to breathe.

_Draco fucking Malfoy_.

"Granger," he snarled. He set her on her feet

Behind her, she could hear the man who had tried to kill her rising from the ground, recovered from her poorly cast spell.

"You bitch," he growled. She could hear him staggering towards them on unsteady feet but Draco still held her throat, keeping her still. "You'll pay for that-"

The was a flash of red and Hermione was knocked to the ground as Malfoy stunned the man and grabbed the invisibility cloak from the ground.

"Hermione!" Ron was trying to get past the shield she had conjured around them - Harry was summoning his wand but it couldn't break through the glowing blue ward.

Malfoy grabbed Hermione again, spinning her around to face Harry and Ron, and pressed his wand against her throat. Crushed against his chest, she could feel his heart beating wildly.

"Don't bother coming after me, Potter," he warned, because somehow he could tell the mutilated boy was Harry. Perhaps it was because it was obvious that the only person Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley would be traveling with. Hermione didn't care how he knew. She just wished should could reach her wand, but Malfoy had wrestled it from her and tucked it away. His hot breath tickled her ear. Hermione struggled against him, trying to kick him away and clawing at the arms that restricted her. "Don't worry about your little Mudblood - she'll come to no harm…" he pressed the tip of his wand forcefully against her neck, "If she behaves."

"_LET HER GO, YOU BASTARD-"_

Malfoy tutted at Ron. Hermione could feel her little bag scratch the skin of her waist - she had slipped it under her shirt and it was hidden from view. She was sure Malfoy could feel it too - his hand snaked beneath her shirt and grabbed the purse, warm fingers brushing her skin, before yanking it violently away from her body. Hermione cried out as the strap broke against her skin and he shoved it in his cloak.

He flicked away the shield that bound the boys. They spilled forwards and scrambled for the wands.

Then, with a painful grip across her shoulders, Malfoy turned on the spot, and her vision colored black.

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><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> And so begins my first ever Hermione/Draco story. I really hope I can get the characterization down. They're all such intense characters... Well, let's just see how this goes then. Tell me if anything with the characters is off - like I said, I've never written, and I'm a little worried they'll be OC. Then again, the pairing of Hermione and Draco is OC as it is, so maybe it's okay if their personalities meander.

Drop me a comment and tell me what you think of it so far. Don't worry, this story is far from being over. Besides, I'd love to read some feedback.

Have a fantastic week, lovelies.


	2. The Sound of Silence

**Disclaimer: **These incredible characters belong to Jo Rowling - I only wish to borrow them for a quick adventure or two.

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><p><strong>Chapter Two: The Sound of Silence<strong>

The landing was far from graceful.

Draco shoved Granger away from him the moment he found his balance and sent her sprawling like a spider on roller-skates to the ground.

"_WHAT THE HELL_?" she yelled, trying to get off the ground. "MALFOY, YOU ARSE-"

Draco's heart was racing as he pulled his wand from the sleeve his dark cloak and silenced her easily with a flick of his wrist. He glanced about himself, trying to decipher where the hell they were and if anyone had heard her bloody screeching. Jesus, that girl had a pair of lungs.

Draco looked down at her again and she glared up at him, lips locked together. The hate in her eyes sent shivers down his back and he took from her contempt a sick pleasure. It was so different from the ceaseless looks he'd been getting the past few months - constant pity, pity for him being weak, for failing - and constant fear, fear because, even though he pretended otherwise, he _was_ weak. He _displeased_ the Dark Lord. He _angered_ him. He was inadequate. The Dark Lord's greatest stigma.

In other words, Draco Malfoy was a failure.

"Malfoys are _never_ failures," Draco muttered to himself, pushing his palms harshly into his eyes, trying to rub away the awful feeling that continuously nagged deep in the hidden corners of his mind.

He pulled his hands away and with a deep breath, looked at the girl at his feet, confident he was wearing the perfectly crafted mask of cruelty he saved for Mudbloods only.

Mudbloods like Hermione Granger.

Hermione Granger with her bushy hair and unattractive features. Her face was too delicate, her body too soft, her eyes too wide and warm, compared to someone like - Draco searched for an adequate example - like Pansy, with her strong, sharp features, her seductive shape, her guarded, cunning little eyes.

Yes, that was what Draco Malfoy fancied in his women.

Not that he'd had many.

Draco gripped his wand tightly and swallowed hard but kept his hard gaze trained on the struggling girl. He had no idea what he had gotten himself into. When Weasley had stumbled from the tent supporting who was obviously Potter with a clever hex to the face, Draco almost had a heart attack. No, he hadn't signed up to capture the golden boy or his ginger. In fact, he hadn't signed up at all. It was his father's idea of redemption, sending Draco to work with a bunch of whinger _Snatchers_. They didn't even have Dark Marks. A Malfoy should be above working with dirty wankers like them. He'd wondered how long his father expected him to stay with them. He'd wondered how high the price of his head would be if he ran away.

He'd been thinking of it for a while now. The idea had planted itself in his head long before his work with the Snatchers began, long before the night he failed on the Astronomy Tower. Escaping the constant fear that held him by the neck, being free of the unyielding expectations of his father, leaving behind this stupid war and all the people in it. A fresh start. A new life. He could be _Draco_. Just Draco. To no have the word _Malfoy _weighing him down, with so many strings attached to that name.

So Draco, ever the Slytherin, formed a plan. He schemed late at night, listening to the deafening snores of the men around him. He got jumpy; one wrong look in his way and Draco became a blithering idiot, talking far too loud and far too defensively. He had felt their suspicious eyes on him, he had heard them whispering about him over the dirty cloth colored broth they called dinner.

So when Granger emerged from beneath Potter's invisibility cloak, Draco was ready to have a stroke. A blur of brown and blue and white tumbled at him from what seemed to be thin air and crashed into his legs, nearly knocking him over. Draco had stared at the figure that rested on his boots in wonder, wand held high in what had been an attempt to ward off the invisible attacker. Well, now he'd found it. He'd found… her.

She lay gasping, curled around his legs, trying to raise her wand from the jumble of limbs that made up - _you have got to be fucking kidding me _- HermioneGranger_._

Draco dipped down and grabbed the girl by the throat, wrapping his fingers easily around the soft skin. For a moment he was almost afraid he'd break her fragile neck, but remembered as he felt the pulse of her heart in the palm of his hand that the blood that was racing through the neck he held was dirtied, was _contaminated_. So he tightened his grip and hoisted her up so she was forced to meet his hard eyes, his face a perfectly composed sneer.

Her eyes were wild and dark in the moonlight and for a moment they stared at each other, the weight of Granger's body causing his arm to ache.

What'd happened after was a blur. One moment Draco was holding her high in the air, exchanging pleasantries, the next, he was shoving her to the ground and stunning the recovered Snatcher. He'd hated Donald since the first day he laid his eyes on the tosser and stunning him sparked a warm, fuzzy feeling of satisfaction in the pit of Draco's hungry stomach.

Draco had lunged forward to grab Potter's cloak and before he could think about what he was saying, what he was _doing_, he had Granger's body pressed against his, her wand in his pocket and his against her throat, and he seemed to be ordering Potter and Weasel to not follow him. Follow him where, he didn't know. He couldn't think straight, he couldn't comprehend what the fuck he was doing, but he knew that he had to do it quick, before the Snatchers woke up and brought him to the Dark Lord. No, Draco would not go back there. Not ever. In that moment, he refused to think of his mother. Picturing her face when she and his father would receive the news of their only son's untimely disappearance nearly broke his heart. He could only imagine the unbearable coldness of his father's eyes as disappointment and disgust swelled to his face. Draco could not go back. Not after this. He could not face the disappointment in his father's eyes. Not again.

Granger stilled on the ground and Draco brought his gaze back to her from the space between trees he'd been staring at unsteadily. He blinked, hard, and wrinkled his nose at her.

"Are you through with your squawking, Granger? You've got the lungs of a goddamn banshee."

She glared at him, her eyes attempting to smother him dead. Draco laughed - it was more of a bark, really - and flicked his wand, from which tendrils of black, unbreakable silk leaped to slither around her wrists and ankles. Granger struggled against them, thrashing this way and that, and Draco left her to battle the pieces of cloth to inspect their surroundings.

They were in a forest of some sort, that Draco knew. He wasn't the brightest when it came to geography, but it seemed as if they were still in Britain… probably. The clearing was suitable enough; suitable enough for _what_ was the question. Draco's head was a swirling mess and he hadn't a bloody clue what to do. He was sure to keep his face impassive as panic began to bile in his throat. He had a terrible urge to hex something into oblivion and transfigure himself into a pebble and never be found again, hidden forever in the Forest of Where Ever The Fuck He Was. Only, it didn't work that way. Of course, he _could_ hex Granger into oblivion, but any idiot could see that the girl, annoying as she was, was valuable. More than valuable. Turn in one-third of the most wanted trio in all of the wizarding world and the rewards are bound to be profuse. Draco didn't doubt that her capture would lead to forgiveness of the Dark Lord. His father would be proud.

So why, then, had he saved her from the Snatchers? Why hadn't he let Potter and his friends be captured, for once and for all?

Draco shied away from the answer.

Because, deep down - or perhaps not that deep at all - Draco Malfoy wanted Voldemort defeated. Draco Malfoy wanted Voldemort dead, even if he were too cowardly to do anything about it. He supposed he'd had plenty of chances at it. The Dark Lord had sat at _his _table in _his _family's home. But one twitch of a finger towards his wand and he'd be stunned, probably killed, if he got the wand out of his pocket, in a heartbeat. Besides, it would be useless. He wasn't sure if he could cast the killing spell correctly. He couldn't even produce a patronus. And from what he'd been picking up on, Voldemort was invincible… as long as Potter didn't find what he was looking for.

Draco watched Granger carefully. She was through with jerking around in an attempt to break the cloth. She had her eyes closed and if Draco didn't know better, he would have thought she was crying.

Draco held his wand tightly in his hand, feeling the familiar wood against his skin, reassuring him. Of what, he didn't know - there was so much, too much to be reassured of right then - but he welcomed the warmth anyway. He uttered a soft counter-spell and the silencing charm released Granger from it's hold.

She lift her eyes to his face, cheeks and forehead dirty and scratched and lip bleeding from when she had fallen to the ground. Her hair was littered with bits of leaves and dirt. She looked fierce, unafraid - she looked like a Gryffindor. He couldn't help the fact that she stole his breath in that moment. However, he _could_ ignore it.

"Why?" she asked, voice hoarse from the soundless screams she had been making, even with his charm placed on her throat. "Why are you doing this, Malfoy?"

_I don't fucking know. _

"I hardly think you're in a position to be demanding such answers from me, Granger." He kept his voice mocking and indifferent. Her gaze didn't falter.

"Let. Me. Go."

"I don't think so." Draco forced his lips into a gruesome looking smile. "You're mine now,_ Mudblood_. The faster you accept that, the less I'll have to bind you with silk - very fine silk, I might add. Unbreakable, if you hadn't noticed. But no matter."

She sneered at him.

"I don't belong to you," she hissed.

He smiled divinely. "Oh, you do. No wand-" he pulled hers from his cloak, "-no bag-" he pulled that out too, turning it over in his hands, "-you're defenseless, Granger. Nothing more than a muggle."

She lifted her chin and sat up even straighter and gazed at him with dangerous eyes. He felt a shiver go through him again. Draco clenched his hand around her wand, which he held in the same hand as his own wand. The two met with a golden spark. Draco tried to look unfazed but he could see the surprise on Granger's face, who had probably read the entire section of the library on wands. He was 99.9 percent sure that that didn't happen on a daily basis. He gripped the wands in his hand and pretended like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Now," He cleared his throat and squatted in front of her. Her eyes never left his. He was sure he'd never been this close to her face in his life. It wasn't all together unpleasant. However, Draco narrowed his eyes at her and cocked his head to the side just slightly. "What is it that Potter needs to find so badly?"

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><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> Augghhh guys, I am so sorry, I'm terrible at updating, I've just been so terribly busy. This chapter is short, yes, I know, and I apologize.

Feel free to tell me what you think of Draco's point of view. I'd love to know. Also, tell me what you think of the progression of the story so far. Are these two characterized enough? Am I way off? Hah, just leave me a little comment, it makes me incredibly happy.

Have a beautiful week, darlings.


	3. Good Looks, Bad Intentions

**Disclaimer: **These incredible characters belong to Jo Rowling - I only wish to borrow them for a quick adventure or two.

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><p><strong><em><em>Chapter Three: Good Looks, Bad Intentions **

_"Now," He cleared his throat, suddenly thirsty, and squatted in front of her. "What is it that Potter needs to find so badly?"_

His stupid face was far too close to hers. However, that wasn't what was bothering Hermione. It was the fact that she was struck suddenly by his silver - _oh, Merlin, don't let me say it_ - beauty. All right. So Draco Malfoy, Prince of Pricks, is attractive. It's not like Hermione hadn't noticed it before. She just chose to not acknowledge it. But now, with his face just inches from hers, she couldn't help the little tremor that ran up her spine.

Hermione also couldn't help the ache in her fist, just begging her to punch him right in the middle of his pretty face. Unfortunately, his binding was tight, and it held her arms in place, so she settled for a simple but usually most effective "fuck you" instead.

"No need to be so _rude_, Granger," Malfoy sneered, pointing her own wand at her hands. The cloth that bound her, silky and unbreakable, tightened further, pressing her wrists together. At this point, the black fabric was nearly cutting off all her circulation.

She wondered still at the sparks their wands had produced. Hermione had read a fair amount of books on wands her first year at Hogwarts. She was hungry for knowledge on anything to do with magic. In fact, she may or may not have read the entire section on wands in the library. But she had never read anything, not a single line of text on wands that, on contact, produced magic on their own. _Curious_.

Hermione felt a sharp pang of betrayal as she stared at the wand in his hand - _her_ wand in his hand, meshed closely with his. She couldn't bare to see her wand clutched in his slim fingers. Her wand, that had grown to become an extension of her own body, being used to bind her there.

She knew it didn't want to be turned against her. Hermione could feel its conflicted strain.

"What a lovely wand this is," Malfoy said, inspecting it closely with a look of almost-interest. She felt like he was stripping her of her layers, uncovering the most vulnerable pieces of her. "How you got your filthy hands on it is a curious question, don't you think, Granger?" He turned it over, testing its weight. He ignored her seething. "I'm sure there's a witch out there, pureblood to the boot, wondering why the hell some dirty Mudblood has _her_ wand."

She hated him.

"I didn't steal that wand!" Hermione yelled. Her throat was raw and burning from her stupid attempts of screaming, even when Malfoy had placed the silencing charm on her. "It was given to me, _Malfoy_," Hermione spat the word like it was a bitter taste on her tongue, "because it's _mine_. It belongs to _me_, you foul git."

He didn't bat an eyelash. Instead he pointed _her_ wand at her, _again_, and raised an eyebrow.

"Would you like to test your wand's allegiance?" He asked softly, his words falling gently and burning holes through her skin. "Because I have a feeling that it's not as faithful as you'd like to believe."

"Who said anything about _faithful_?" She asked.

"Well, usually, when something is _yours_, they usually want to stay that way. But I'm sensing if I tried hard enough, I could force your wand to preform one of the three Unforgivable Curses. Do you know which one I'm thinking of?" He leered at her.

"Why don't you hand me your wand and we can test your theory?"She cocked her head to the side, ignoring the pain in her wrists, or rather, the lack thereof, since she was beginning to lose feeling in both her hands. "I think you underestimate the power of loyalty, Malfoy."

He chuckled, or at least, she _thought_ he chuckled - it was a hard, brash noise that sounded wrong and repulsive in her ears. "You're a Gryffindor, Granger, through and through, just like Potter and his weasel. Loyalty _this_, bravery _that_. Haven't you noticed that these 'valuable' traits are what so commonly get you all _killed_?"

Hermione closed her eyes. "Under the circumstances of this war," she stated, opening her eyes to stare right into his. "I'm almost positive that I am going to die." She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders, pulling herself into a graceful pose on the ground. "And when that happens, I will _not_ die a coward, _Draco_. Nor will I die knowing that I let my friends down. However, I have this odd hunch that you will be miserable and alone throughout this bloody war, whether or not you survive." She watched his hand constrict around her wand. She smiled sadly at him, pity flooding her face as she watched him carefully, waiting for that one millisecond when he snapped and cursed her to the place that comes after oblivion. Hermione took a steady, unwavering breath before she spoke, voice dripping with a fresh coat of sympathy. "And honestly, I feel sorry for you."

His eyes were dangerously slitted.

"What was that, _Mudblood_?" He bit out, each word harsh and cold. She could see him struggling to keep calm and not let her words bother him, but it was a difficult task.

"I said, and listen closely, because I doubt I'll have the patience to repeat it: _I_. _Feel_. _Sorry_. _For_. _You_."

Malfoy rose his hand in the air, faster than she would have thought possible, prepared to hit her across the face. Hermione kept her eyes trained on his, defiant in her lowly stance, and waited for his strike. When she didn't flinch away from him, his grey eyes grew wide and conflicted. A strangled sound, frustrated and angry, lashed from his lips.

She waited.

His arm fell to his side, fingers dragging across the rough ground. He tucked her wand away in his cloak, disgust filling his face.

"Don't you dare feel sorry for me, stupid Mudblood." He said roughly, snatching her bag from where he had set it on the ground and prying it open. "Don't you ever feel fucking sorry for me. The only person you should be pitying is yourself. _You're_ the one who is going to die, Granger. You said it yourself."

"'To die would be an awfully big adventure,'" she quoted. That earned her a well crafted sneer.

"Sorry, but I think the only thing death is is fucking _dead_."

She shrugged, nonchalant. "I'll be sure you'll be the first to know what being dead is like… once _I'm_ dead, of course."

She heard him mutter something that distinctly sounded like: "I could help you along with _that_ process," but, like most things he said, she chose to ignore it.

The truth was, thinking about her inevitable death didn't scare her as much as it should have. In fact, it barely scared her at all anymore. What Hermione was frightened of was dying having let her friends down. And, most of all, she was petrified at the thought of any of her friends dying because of this stupid war.

_Harry_, she thought, her chest seeming to cave into itself. _Ron_.

If she tried, she could still feel the warmth of his kiss on her lips. She felt confusion well up in her, pulling on the bases of their friendship and sending everything Hermione knew about them crashing down.

Sure, she had had a crush on Ronald for a few years at Hogwarts. But since Dumbledore's death, she'd felt that feeling waning away. The moment Hermione realized that this was actually happening, that this was _war_, and Harry, Ron and she played such a significant role in it, all earlier feelings HErmione had harbored for Ron were swept away. How could she possibly continue to let herself be infatuated by him, when there was a war brewing? How could she dare let the silly feelings she had felt rule her head, which she had to keep absolutely clear in order to survive?

Malfoy had been rummaging through her bag, reaching his arm in shoulder deep and pulling random items out. He tossed them on the ground and she tried to stare impassively at Harry's cap and Ron's maroon sweater. Her fingers itched (or she imagined they did; how was she to know when she couldn't even feel anything past her wrists anymore?) to hug the items to her, to hold them tight and close her eyes and pretend like Draco sodding Malfoy hadn't kidnapped her away from her two best friends, her two rocks in this unsteady life she was living and wasn't holding her hostage on the cold, forest ground, bound by merciless silk.

Malfoy pulled out a silver frame that flashed in the moonlight. He glanced at it and was about to toss it away until his eyes settled on the picture that the metal frame contained. His eyebrows furrowed and Hermione watched him as he squinted at the picture, bringing it closer to his face.

"These are your parents," he said. It wasn't a question. "They're not moving. Muggle film, no doubt." His nose wrinkled as he continued to inspect them. A stab of anger ran through her. She could handle his insults when they were aimed at her; she had grown nearly immune to his jibes. But if he insulted her parents…

"Do they know where you are?" He asked, his voice rough. To say she was surprised would be a mighty understatement.

"I - no." She was flustered by his question. She hadn't expected it. It was odd to have Draco Malfoy wondering about her family.

He looked up and her, brows furrowed.

"Where do they think you are?"

"Why do you care?" She spit, the anger that had evaporated with her surprise returning with full force.

"I'm just wondering if they'll be surprised when your lifeless body has been sent back home, Granger. Or what they'll think if not even that returns." He leaned forward and sneered at her, cocking his head irritatingly to the side, the silver of the moon accentuating the silver of his face. "Do they know you're in this war, Granger?" He narrowed his eyes. "Do they even _know_ there's a war? Or did you tell them that you're off to Hogwarts again, off to a spectacular last year with all your Gryffindor chums? _Do they know, _Granger?"

She felt like she was drowning. In her anger. In her pain. In the loss of her parents who now wouldn't recognize her even if she showed up in Australia wearing the blouse her mother loved her to wear and dancing the silly dance that her father and she used to do together. If she showed them the pictures she had kept of them together, as a family, they would have thought her an excellent scam. Hermione was already dead to them.

"They've got nothing to worry about," is what she managed to grind out.

"No," Malfoy corrected, lips curled in a way that made her want to slap him across the face. Hard. "_Potter's_ parents have nothing to worry about because _they're dead_. So unless your parents are six-feet under, they'll be expecting letters home, won't they?" He laughed metallically. "They'll be waiting for you at Christmas."

"Why do you care?" She repeated weakly. She was tired. So tired. Tired and drained.

Malfoy's face was odd, similar to the expression he had made when she had asked why he had taken her from Harry and Ron. She decided to grasp his moment of hesitation.

"What about you?" She demanded, flexing her fingers in an attempt to feel again. "Do Mummy and Daddy know where _you_ are, Malfoy? Do they know you've gone rogue with a _Mudblood_?" She paused, watching his face contort. "Or do you plan on taking me to them? I'm mighty valuable, if I do say so myself. Best friend of Harry Potter. You-Know-Who would love to have me in his grasp." She squinted at him, analyzing. She took a not-so-wild guess. "But he's angry with you, isn't he? _You disappointed him. _You failed to kill professor Dumbledore and -"

"SHUT UP!" Malfoy yelled, standing up and moving away from her suddenly, knocking her over in the process. "JUST SHUT UP, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF -"

"I think you'll find that I have much more worth than you do at this point, Draco Malfoy." Hermione said, struggling to sit up right.

Malfoy spun to face her, eyes wild, and pointed his wand at her. His hand trembled but Hermione was unafraid.

"Do it then," she yelled. "If you think that killing me will prove something to you, then _do it!_"

The wind froze and the forest turned a deathly quiet. The air grew cold and sharp. It was hard to breathe and every breath was like a pierce to Hermione's lungs. Malfoy's eyes were wide with fear, and Hermione knew why. The lifeless feeling she was falling into was all too familiar. She remembered Sirius and Harry and the lakeside. She remembered falling into darkness, void of any hope or happiness. She remembered the Ministry. She remembered the hoards of them clawing at her soul, trying to lure her into their deadly kiss.

Dementors.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: <strong>DUN DUN DUN.

I'd love to learn more about you all. Drop me a note and tell me when it was when you first started shipping Draco and Hermione, and why? I really started liking them together when I realized how dynamic they are. Not to mention how hot they are together ;)

So, feedback is what makes my world go round. Please, keep me spinning and tell me what you think!

Thank you for reading, and have a beautiful week, darlings!


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